Elizabeth, the Witch's Daughter

by Elizabeth, the Witch's Daughter (retail) (epub)

As if in a trance Mary stumbled to her prie-dieu, eyes fixed upon the Crucifix above.

  “Dear God, he could not be so cruel,” she murmured in a strangled voice, “surely he could not be so cruel?”

  Suddenly the full realisation of Henry’s brutal denial seemed to engulf her and she fell to the floor, her anguished sobs torn from her heart.

  Despite her instructions Lady Bryan could hear no more. She crossed to where Mary lay in a crumpled heap upon the floor and picking the girl up, cradled her in her arms.

  Mary’s whole body was convulsed with sobs.

  “Mary, Mary,” soothed Lady Bryan, gently rocking the girl while her own heart was desolate for she could find no words with which to console the heartbroken Princess.

  So Catherine had died, neglected and virtually alone. She the daughter of the great Isabella, Princess of Spain and Queen of England was laid to rest with little ceremony at Peterborough. Her last thoughts had been for the husband to whom she had devoted over twenty years of her life. She was deeply mourned by her daughter and by the great majority of her subjects but not by her husband.

  She left behind a broken-hearted girl who was never to completely forgive her father for his cruelty and who was to extend the hatred and bitterness she felt for his new Queen to that Queen’s daughter.

  For Elizabeth’s mother the death of Catherine meant that at last there was but one Queen of England. Anne felt secure, Catherine was dead and she was again pregnant and she was certain that this time it would be a boy.

  The court exploded into a riot of gaiety. Balls, masques and all manner of festivities were devised. In the midst of this revelry Henry carried his baby daughter high in his arms that all may admire her, conveniently forgetting that he had once carried Mary in the same way.

  *

  A few months later everything had changed for Elizabeth.

  Young as she was she sensed a strange and frightening atmosphere. Suddenly no one wished to listen to her infant chatter, seemingly wishing to go away quickly as she entered a room. The little girl was hurt and bewildered. She did not know what she had done but she thought it must be something very bad. Her dresses were shabby but there were no new ones, no more satin caps to replace the ones grown too small and soiled to be worn.

  She asked Lady Bryan one day, “How haps it yesterday my Lady Princess, but to-day my Lady Elizabeth?”

  Lady Bryan did not reply but looked at the child with sorrow.

  “What is it that I have done that my Lady mother never comes to see me?” the little girl persisted.

  Lady Bryan’s eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. She could not trust herself to answer. She stumbled from the room leaving a puzzled and frightened child.

  It was many years later that Elizabeth was to learn that all her mother’s sparkling beauty had gone forever with the sword of the headsman from France on the orders of her father, unjustly accused of the crimes of treason and adultery. Her head with its dark, mocking eyes and raven hair lay on the bloody straw of the scaffold that day in May, 1536. Before they led her out to die they annulled the marriage that cost her her life and Madam Baby too was declared a bastard.

  The child was forgotten in the unseemly haste of the King’s new marriage to Jane Seymour, one of Anne’s own Maids of Honour. Indeed things became so bad that in August Lady Bryan was forced to write to Thomas Cromwell, Henry’s Chief Minister, because the little girl was rapidly growing and was short of clothes.

  “She has neither gown nor kirtle, nor petticoat nor linen for smocks,” wrote Lady Bryan. Moreover, she was at a loss how to address the child and had allowed her much more freedom of late because Elizabeth was in great pain with her teeth. The pain at times was great and the tantrums which resulted served to remind Lady Bryan forcibly of the child’s father.

  Elizabeth’s safe, secure little world was gone forever, leaving behind a child who would bear the scars on her character for the rest of her life.

  Chapter Two

  A week later Lady Bryan came to the child.

  “Come here my Lady, I have something very important to tell you.”

  The little girl looked at her Lady Mistress with bright, intelligent eyes. Lady Bryan seemed to be her old self again and she felt reassured as she followed her to the window seat. She climbed up beside her, settling her long skirts and folding her hands in front of her as she had seen the ladies do and waited for Lady Bryan to speak, expectation and curiosity written all over her pointed little face.

  “We have a new Queen,” Lady Bryan said brightly, with no trace in her voice of the anxiety she felt at having to impart this news to the child. “Queen Jane,” she continued. “I am sure you will like her, she is a very kind and gentle lady,” she finished, inwardly dreading the inevitable question.

  The little girl did not speak but Lady Bryan read in the dark eyes the question she feared to answer.

  Before Elizabeth had time to put her thoughts into words she lifted her down from the high seat and gave her a gentle push towards the door.

  “I think Mary has something for you, a surprise,” she said. “I should go and see what it is.” Lady Bryan sat down with a thankful sigh as the little girl trotted obediently away in search of her sister.

  Elizabeth had noticed that lately Mary’s position had changed. Everyone was very polite and respectful to Mary now. Mary no longer had to take her meals with everyone else in the Great Hall as she had formerly done and she noticed too that her Aunts seemed to be a little afraid of Mary.

  She was quick to notice the change in Mary’s attitude to herself; Mary was much kinder to her, as if there was something Mary knew but she did not. Mary often sent for her and would tell her stories and listen to her chatter, answering her questions patiently. Sometimes she would sing to her and the little girl loved the quaint rhyme that went:

  “I had a little nut tree, nothing would it bear

  But a silver nutmeg and a golden pear.

  The King of Spain’s daughter came to visit me

  All for the sake of my little nut tree.”

  But Mary seemed sad when she sang this song and the little mite would climb up on her knee and put her arms about her to make her smile again.

  In October as Elizabeth stood watching the leaves falling from the trees in the garden, making a golden carpet of the ground beneath, her little head filled with infant fantasies, Mary came to her. Turning quickly Elizabeth could see how excited her sister was. Mary’s rather plain face was flushed and her dark, short-sighted eyes bright.

  “We are to go to Court, Bess,” she burst out. “We are to meet the new Queen, our stepmother.” As soon as she perceived the troubled expression that came over the face of the child, Mary could have bitten her tongue. In her excitement she had been utterly tactless.

  The little girl crossed the room, the rays of the autumn sun catching the red-gold hair and turning it into a fiery halo. Her dark eyes were questioning as she looked up at her sister.

  “Why do I need a new mother?” she asked.

  Gently Mary took her upon her knee and as best she could told the little girl that her mother had gone to Heaven to live with God and his Holy Mother. Inwardly Mary prayed for forgiveness for this lie, for she firmly believed that Anne Boleyn would burn in hell for all eternity, but she could not tell that to the little girl of barely three years old who looked at her with such a pathetic expression on her pale, little face.

  And so they had gone to Court but for Elizabeth it had been a great disappointment. She had not seen her father at all and only once did she see the new Queen who spoke at her gently, whilst Mary saw them both frequently. Soon it was time to return to Hatfield and this time without Mary.

  *

  A year passed and Lady Bryan came to her one October day. Elizabeth was four and had already begun to learn her letters from the little horn book which hung from her girdle by a silken thread.

  Lady Bryan sat down beside the child.

  “My Lady, you have a ne
w brother,” she said. He was a very important baby for he would be King one day.

  The child remained silent but inwardly she felt rejected for Lady Bryan was now going to be governess to the new Prince, a very important position. Elizabeth was to attend the christening and to have a place in the procession which was also very important. She must remember all she had been taught and must behave as befitted a King’s daughter.

  Elizabeth heard all this in silence, showing no trace of the resentment she felt.

  “Why has this brother come?” she asked herself. “Why am I no longer called Princess?”

  Lady Bryan left her to her thoughts.

  She wandered to the window and pressed her face against the cold pane. This baby was to be King one day, Lady Bryan had said. In her mind she held a faint memory of a beautiful, dark haired lady who had held her close and told her that one day she would be Queen of England.

  “I will be a Queen,” she told herself. Brother or no brother!

  Lady Bryan instructed her how to behave for the ceremony and so she was taken to Hampton Court palace where Edward was to be christened. It was to be a very grand affair and she was to have a new dress. As Lady Bryan dressed her she touched the soft, green velvet. It felt silky. The sleeves were lined with white satin and the skirt was embroidered with tiny flowers of gold and silver thread and it was by far the most beautiful dress she had ever had. There was a hood of the same velvet for her head and a cross and chain of gold to be worn around her neck.

  According to custom the ceremony was to take place at night and she was considered too small to walk so she was carried in the arms of the Queen’s brother, Edward Seymour. From this vantage point she had a good view of the rest of the party. Mary was to be Godmother. She was dressed in dark blue velvet, lined with cloth of silver and trimmed with fur. Her hood twinkled with jewels and she smiled reassuringly at Elizabeth who returned her smile before she remembered Lady Bryan’s instructions to appear decorous. She looked around the chapel taking in the stained glass windows, the high hammer beamed roof with its intricate carvings. The hundreds of candles made it as bright as day and the gold and silver altar plate glowed in their light. The candlelight also caught the bejewelled vestments of the bishops and priests and in her active little mind they became as dazzling as the wings of the angels in the stories Mary told her.

  The ceremony was long. The heavy, sickly sweet smell of incense and the soft melodious chanting of the priests made her eyelids heavy with sleep but she fought valiantly to keep awake. She carried the chrisom, the beautiful, embroidered baptismal robe and had received a nod of approval from Lady Bryan. She felt very grand and grown-up when the ceremony being finally over, Lady Herbert of Troy had carried her train as she walked hand in hand with Mary back to the palace.

  Nine days later Mary came to see her. The child could see from her red, swollen eyes that her sister had been weeping, but then Mary frequently wept for all sorts of reasons that Elizabeth found hard to understand.

  Mary sat down in a chair and pulled a foot-stool close for Elizabeth, who sat down expectantly.

  Mary’s voice was choked as she spoke. “Bess, our Gracious Queen and mother has been taken to live in Heaven,” she began.

  “Like my mother?” the little girl interrupted.

  Her sister nodded.

  Elizabeth sat looking down at her hands, feeling rather uncomfortable. She tried to remember what Queen Jane had looked like, but all she could remember was a small, pale lady who reminded her of a little grey mouse.

  Mary struggled and composed herself.

  “She took a fever, she was never strong,” she continued.

  Still the child did not speak.

  “Our father is prostrate with grief,” Mary told her.

  Elizabeth wondered to herself whether her father had been prostrate with grief upon the death of she whose name was never spoken. He had certainly not been, she had heard the servants whisper, at the news of the death of Mary’s mother. She raised her head and looked up at her sister but Mary was looking beyond her with a bitter look upon her face, for Mary too was remembering how Henry had greeted the news of Catherine’s death. He had dressed himself from head to toe in yellow, with a white feather in his hat and had spent the days rejoicing with this child’s mother.

  Mary rose. “You must pray for her, Bess,” she said in a tight voice. “I must leave you now.” And Mary left as quietly as she had come.

  Not long after the death of Jane Seymour, Elizabeth returned to Hatfield. She was a little down-hearted as she had enjoyed being at Court and Lady Bryan had now gone to supervise Edward’s nursery. She still had Blanche Parry and Katherine Champernowne and she was becoming very fond of Kat as she called Katherine. Life settled into the routine of the tour of royal houses and she continued with her lessons and her needlework and music, with Kat’s bright chatter and Blanche’s tales of her native Wales to liven the days.

  Elizabeth especially loved the journeys from one house to the next as she loved the green countryside and the people who came to stand and stare as she went past. They would call out to her and she would smile and wave her tiny hand. All her life she felt close to these people, the people of England and perhaps her early travels fostered this affection.

  Chapter Three

  When she was six years old she was told that she had another stepmother—the Princess Anne of Cleves—and again she was to go to court to meet her. She felt excited when she remembered the gaiety of life at court. She was also very curious as she had heard the giggling whispers of the ladies. His ‘Flanders Mare’ was what her father called this Princess. He had been appalled when he first beheld her and had refused to marry her, but as he could not afford to enrage her brother by sending her home, marry her he must. Elizabeth soon heard, too, how Thomas Cromwell, who had organised the whole disastrous affair, had lost his head because of it.

  Upon her arrival at Hampton Court, after first being made presentable, she was conducted to the Queen’s solar. She looked around quickly but there was no sign of her father.

  The Queen was seated at the far end of the room surrounded by her women, and never in her life had the child seen such a collection of outlandishly attired ladies. She quickly bowed her head lest anyone see the flash of amusement in her eyes. A large, fair woman rose and stepped forward to meet her. Remembering her manners Elizabeth quickly sank into a curtsy. The Queen took her hands and raised her up and looking up the child saw the kindest pair of blue eyes she had ever seen, smiling down at her.

  Anne spoke very little English but her loving, gentle nature shone from those eyes and Elizabeth warmed to her, feeling that in this big, blonde Fleming she had found a true friend.

  The conversation was rather stilted and after a little while she was conducted back to her own apartments to rest. A few days later she set out for Hatfield, having not once set eyes on her father.

  She was astonished when a few weeks later she learnt that Anne had been approached with a view to divorce. Henry’s ministers had dug into her past and produced an old pre-contract and Henry himself denied that the marriage had ever been consummated, although these excuses the child did not hear until she was older. Anne was told that she would retain her household, plus three palaces and a generous yearly income if she would accept and become the King’s ‘Dearest Sister’. Both Mary and Elizabeth were even more astonished when it became known that Anne had delightedly accepted. Obviously, thought Mary, she was as anxious to be rid of him as he was of her. Mary privately feared that Anne would have lost her head had she refused but refrained from uttering these thoughts to the child.

  *

  For the next year Elizabeth continued to live in the country. She was becoming proficient at her studies, showing diligence and a love of learning that would become a pattern for her future studies.

  Once again she was informed that she had a new stepmother and that the country had a new Queen. Henry’s adventures in the matrimonial arena were fast becomin
g the butt of many dubious jokes and the child at the tender age of seven began to wonder, along with half of Europe, how long this one would last!

  She was related to Elizabeth, this second Katherine. A niece of Elizabeth’s great-uncle Norfolk and a cousin of Anne Boleyn. Again the child set out for London to meet a new Queen. His ‘Rose without a thorn’ Henry called her, so Elizabeth heard from Kat Champernowne. Katherine Howard was a tiny girl of eighteen, not very much taller than Elizabeth herself who was tall for her age. Plump and pretty, Katherine laughed a great deal. She fussed over the child, calling her ‘cousin’. She insisted that Elizabeth sit opposite her at table and from here the child observed her father for the first time in many years.

  Gone was the man she remembered. The man who sat before her was gross and ungainly. His table manners were bordering on the revolting, she thought to herself, his fat, beringed hands tearing at his food and stuffing it greedily into his mouth. The once fair complexion was now florid, the little eyes sunk in fat. He had been troubled of late with an ulcer on his leg, but the ulcer, his weight and advancing years were forgotten now in the company of his ‘sweet Kate’. He threw himself wholeheartedly into the pleasures of his youth, save those of dancing and jousting; he felt young again with Kate.

  Elizabeth too was enjoying herself. She had new dresses and even a few pieces of jewellery, presents from the kind-hearted Katherine. There was music, dancing and gaiety at Court. Every day there was a new pursuit—hunting parties, cock-fights, bear-baitings and endless masques— and, like Katherine, Elizabeth began to find life very pleasant and exciting.

  It did not last long.

  There soon came the evil day when a note was passed to Henry by Archbishop Cranmer whilst he was at chapel and Katherine’s past was exposed. Her affairs with Mannox, her music teacher, and Francis Dereham, a distant relation, one-time pirate and now her secretary, came to light.

  Henry, badly shaken, shut himself up alone in his apartments, refusing to see anyone whilst investigations were carried out. Elizabeth lived daily under the cloud of gloom that had suddenly descended upon the palace.